


Topography

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Christmas, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, like seriously maybe only a hint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3664491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a whim, Dean Winchester signs up for a house swap online, driving across the country from his and Sam's home in Palo Alto to spend the holiday in a small cottage in Maine. After a messy breakup, he reasons he just needs to get as far away as possible to clear his head. He doesn't expect to be interrupted up in the middle of the night by a drunken stranger.</p><p>Borrows very heavily from the film "The Holiday." Title is from a sexy poem by Sharon Olds.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Topography

1:53AM

A loud smashing sound outside followed by muttered obscenities raises Dean from his light slumber and his empty whisky glass slips from his fingers to the floor with a thud. Unable to resist decades of ingrained habit, he sits up immediately and reaches for the nearest substantial object. His hand grasps around a table lamp.

Heavy banging on the front door jerks Dean’s head to his right and he bends up, back protesting the stiff movement. His eyes narrow and he strains to hear the intruder’s movements outside and another series of bangs actually shakes the walls of the little cottage and makes the lights flicker.

“Come on,” a voice protests. “It’s Castiel. Let me in; I’m freezing out here.”

Dean notices that the lamp in his hand is still connected to the wall by its cord, so he crouches down by the table to yank it unplugged and straightens back up, never removing his eyes from the dark wooden door. A groan comes from the other side and a thud resounds as the stranger’s foot collides with the door. 

“I swear I’ll never drink again,” the voice says into the door, somehow both petulant and gruff. He sounds tired and rather drunk, and not at all like an axe murderer or thief. “And I need to use the toilet _right now_ so if you don’t let me in I cannot promise that your door will escape unscathed.” 

Dean starts at that and he strides forward hastily and unlatches the lock, swinging the door wide open. On the other side of the threshold a man sways dangerously without the solid door nearby to steady him. His arm flies out to grip the doorframe and then two glistening blue eyes meet Dean’s and widen momentarily before narrowing in confusion. He cants his head to one side and peers at Dean as if he’s trying to figure out something important.

“You’re not Jessica,” he says, blinking. “Or if you are, I am much drunker than I thought,” he grumbles after a beat.

Dean takes in the sight before him through his own slightly inebriated senses. The stranger is bundled in a tan trench coat and an oversized blue knitted scarf is piled around his neck. His hair is dark chaos, and the tips of his nose and ears are pink. Those blue eyes peel away from Dean’s face to land on his outstretched arm. 

“You’re holding a table lamp,” he points out.

Dean follows his eyes and they both consider the lamp for a moment.

“Are you with Jessica?” The man looks warily past Dean’s shoulder into the house. In the empty space Dean notices a shattered bowl on the walkway leading up to the door. 

“Uhh, no,” he swallows thickly, clearing his throat. He hasn’t used his voice for several hours but it sounds like it’s been years. “She’s in California.” At this, the guy nods as if Dean has just informed him of the weather forecast. Then his expression shifts abruptly, his brow furrowing again and he moves to speak, his mouth already rounding out an “o” when Dean adds quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s this house-swap thing. Online? She stays at my place, I stay at hers…” He trails off awkwardly, gesturing with his chin. “Are you and her…?”

“Oh.” Something like understanding dawns on the man's face. “I’m Jess’s brother, Castiel.” He shuffles a little, expectant. A gust of wind rushes in then and fluffs up the back of Castiel’s hair and they both shiver. Dean thinks back to the long, narrow driveway he had followed to reach the cottage and sighs. This guy was in no shape to drive, and the walk was long.

“Why don’t you come in and warm up.” Dean steps aside to let the man move forward and into the little foyer. 

“Thank you,” he says, loosening the scarf around his neck. Dean presses the door shut and watches as Castiel unwraps the scarf and then unbuttons his coat. He fumbles a lot, and Dean isn’t sure if he is struggling more from the effects of alcohol or the cold. His fingers look numb. Eventually he divests himself of both garments and hangs them with care on the coat rack. Dean notes that the guy’s tie is flipped backwards. Castiel rubs his hands together vigorously and looks at Dean, considering. “I’m sorry if I woke you. Jessica usually leaves a key in the pot, for when I spend the night here unexpectedly.”

Dean remembers he is still holding the lamp. He plops it back down on the side table by the couch and straightens the shade, plugging the cord back into the wall. He notices the empty glass by his foot and picks it up gingerly. When he straightens, he almost collides with Castiel’s face.

“Whoa,” he breathes. He flicks his eyes to his lips, slightly parted to let out a breath.

“My apologies. I think I should sit.”

Dean watches the man slump onto the couch. “Can I get you anything? Water? I’m outta whisky, but I could check –”

Castiel raises an arm and points at a cabinet. “I think Jess keeps the good sherry there.” He looks at the glass in Dean’s hand. 

“Right. Yeah.” Dean walks into the kitchen and clutches at a second glass and then opens the cabinet Castiel had gestured to. He picks one of the open bottles at random and brings them around the coffee table back in the living room, seating himself next to Castiel. The other man fills each of the glasses and raises one to Dean’s.

“So, are you here with your…girlfriend?”

“Just me.” Dean takes a long gulp, staring off into space. “I’m supposed to be here through New Year’s, but I’m heading out tomorrow first thing. This was kind of a dumb idea.”

Castiel licks his lips. “We’ve made a great impression on you, haven’t we?”

Dean chuckles at that. “It’s not that. Well,” he thinks back to the cashier at the liquor store but shakes his head. “I just got out of a relationship but we were s'posed to spend the week out here, you know, before..." he gestures vaguely and Castiel nods solemnly. "I didn’t want to be alone for the holidays so I drove all the way across the country hoping that if I was somewhere else I wouldn’t feel like I was alone but then I got here and I’ve never been so alone in my entire life.” Dean knew he was babbling, knew it was because he was quickly heading back into the territory of drunk, and he knew that he was telling his story to a complete stranger who probably didn’t give a shit and certainly didn’t want to hear about Dean’s pathetic problems. He glanced over and was surprised by the concern etched on his face as he stared at Dean. Despite his rumpled, tax-accountant appearance, Dean found himself flicking an appreciative gaze down his face.

“I’m sorry,” the man says formally. Then he adds furtively, “I’ve forgotten your name.”

Dean chuckles, running a hand down his face. “It’s Dean. Dean Winchester.” He holds out his hand reflexively, but the man makes no reach for it. He just keeps staring. “Yeah. So. I guess I’ll turn in. Night, Cas.” 

“Good night, Dean,” Castiel replies, swaying forward and then his lips are pressed gently to Dean’s, little more than a ghosting touch. Dean blinks, otherwise frozen in place. Castiel pulls back and searches Dean’s face, his own expression a little stunned. Something surprising curls deep in Dean’s gut. He moves to say something but stops, his brain scrambling desperately to adjust to the turn of events. He keeps his eyes fixed on the other man’s collar.

“Do you think you could...?” He winces, starting again. “Would you mind...trying that again?” 

Castiel grins at that and draws in close again, one still-cold hand sliding up to grip Dean’s shoulder. He kisses Dean more thoroughly this time and Dean closes his eyes and moves his lips too, parting his mouth in surrender. Castiel is all warmth and sherry and whisky. After a moment, Dean braces his hands on Castiel's shoulders and pushes him back gently.

Dean takes a deep breath and the words spill out. “You know, Cas, given that I’m in a bit of a personal crisis and l find myself in a total stranger's home, in a town that l can't actually remember the name of," he licks his lips, turning his face away. "And seeing how you showed up and you're, like, insanely good-looking and really drunk and probably won't remember me anyway, I’m thinking _we should have sex._ If you want.” There is no immediate reply, so Dean peeks out from one under one eyelid, hoping to gauge some kind of reaction.

Cas stares at him intensely, and in a serious tone he says, “Yes, Dean. I would like that very much.” Dean grins and then pulls him back in, warm chest meeting winter-cold arms and both of them eager.

At least for tonight, Dean wasn’t alone.


End file.
